


by the way she bends

by littledust



Category: Lizzie Bennet Diaries
Genre: Abusive Relationship, F/F, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-05
Updated: 2013-02-05
Packaged: 2017-11-28 06:19:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/671250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littledust/pseuds/littledust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Caroline's line of work is more assassination, less search and rescue, but Gigi asks for a favor and she can't say no.</p>
            </blockquote>





	by the way she bends

**Author's Note:**

> I've been wanting to write this ever since the current Lydia arc began. The usual thank you to Naomi/anachronistique for looking this over! Title from "Don't Make Me Come to Vegas" by Tori Amos.

The invitation comes through her professional account, so Caroline shows up ten minutes early to the cafe. It's her client's style all right: so classy that most people don't know about it, but welcoming to those who do. The building itself is innocuous brick, the glass windows tinted, and the name sign written in script so looping as to be illegible. Caroline steps through the front door and assesses: black and white tiled floor; white metal patio furniture even inside, including chairs done in the sweetheart style; colorful swatches of fabric used to brighten the deep green walls as well as suggest a floral theme; croquet mallets drawn on the chalkboard menu above the counter.

Caroline walks over to the counter and orders a coffee with a pastry. The Queen of Tarts has earned its name. She's taking her first sip of coffee when her client walks in.

"Hello, Gigi." Caroline nods toward one of the tables. "Let's talk."

The cherry tart has a light, flaky crust, nicely balancing the cherries, tart as promised. Caroline offers Gigi a bite, then polishes off the tart as Gigi twists her ring around one finger, her gaze never resting long on one place.

"I suppose you're wondering why I asked you here," Gigi says at last.

"Not really," Caroline says. "I have the Internet. Are you serious about commissioning my services?" She profiles all her clients; she's very good at it. Gigi just doesn't seem the type to hire an assassin, however much certain people in her past deserve to die.

Then Gigi looks her directly in the eye and says, "I want you to save her. As a personal favor."

Caroline considers over a too-rapid sip of coffee. Her tongue hurts, and here she thought she inured herself to caffeinated beverage burns by the time she hit senior year of high school. She doesn't do favors for anything besides personal or professional gain. She'll profess altruistic motives to others to make them more comfortable--Bing taught her how to do that when they were children--but Gigi should know better. Bing is the knight in shining armor, even if his government operative cover story has more holes than one of her designer lace dresses.

Government agents don't have to be smart. Caroline does.

"If you wanted a favor, you shouldn't have used my work e-mail," Caroline says.

"I didn't think you'd appreciate the urgency of the situation if I didn't put it in context," Gigi lobs back. She looks like her brother when she raises her eyebrow like that. Caroline tightens her fingers around her coffee cup a miniscule amount as Gigi continues, "I know this is unusual. I know you don't like any of them, and that's why it has to be you. You have nothing to gain, so she might believe you."

"Possible," Caroline says, leaning back in her chair. "But I don't owe you any favors."

Gigi smiles, and unwillingly, Caroline thinks _checkmate._ Perhaps it's the black and white tiling. "Because I figured out why you broke up Bing and Jane, though I don't understand why you're saving him for _me_ when you'd really prefer... different circumstances."

Caroline has killed men with her bare hands. She has to concentrate on keeping her coffee cup intact. "What an interesting theory," she says with one of her famous polite smiles. She can ruin someone's social standing with a smile, but while her talent for subterfuge far exceeds her brother's, previous incidents have proved it rather lacking. "There are some people who deserve to suffer, and George Wickham happens to be one of them. You've given me a convenient excuse to mete out justice."

Gigi's smile turns sad. "You don't care about justice, Caroline."

_I care about you_ , Caroline doesn't say. She's not that kind of girl.

*

She tracks down Wickham first. He's making no effort to cover his tracks, using a credit card to pay for a motel room outside LA. He's probably hiding from the Bennets, who hardly have the funds to track him down, while making sure Darcy can find him, since _he_ has the funds to buy his silence. Money is a convenience Caroline is glad to have at her disposal, but bribery is essentially consenting to giving away one's power. Why pay when one can achieve?

The sun is warm at her back as Caroline parks. She prefers to carry out her assignments in broad daylight whenever she can to intimidate those who might become her enemies. It works wonders for drumming up more clientele. A little shiver of disgust runs up her spine as she strides through the motel parking lot. She's undoubtedly going to return to a scratch or a dent on her car. There are too many junkers in the parking lot, too many drivers with nothing to lose.

Caroline kicks down the motel room door. She's wearing her black Fluevogs with thick soles and no heel. The door swings inward from impact and slams into the wall.

"What the fuck?!" Wickham shouts, sitting up in bed. His hair is disheveled from sleep, though it's well past 10 AM on a Monday. Caroline perhaps timed her visit to coincide with the morning after his night of drinking at a bar and watching the Superbowl.

When he makes her out, squinting through the shadows the sun makes of her silhouette, Wickham's expression shifts twice. The first is from anger to wariness, lasting perhaps half a second; the second is from wariness to his normal disaffected smirk. "Not the millionaire I was hoping to see, peach, but the picture you make is worth at least a thousand dollars," he drawls. There's no doubt he's good at what he does, but Caroline is better.

"You became aware of my profession during our previous acquaintance," Caroline says, pulling a switchblade out of her purse and taking a step toward the bed.

Wickham betrays himself, of course. He jerks upright into a sitting position and attempts to stand, the sheet wrapping around his legs. He falls back, catching himself on his arms, leaving his bare torso arched over the bed and vulnerable. Caroline advances, reaching out to ball one fist in the hair at the base of his neck while using the other to press her blade against his throat. It warms her heart, seeing him try not to swallow.

"I'll give you half the money," he says, forcing a smile.

"I don't see a solution besides killing you," Caroline muses aloud, rubbing the edge of her blade ever so lightly back and forth across his skin. "You've proven that if you're paid off, you'll find another girl and treat her even worse for fun and profit."

"Two thirds of the money," Wickham whispers, letting the smile fall. He's still looking at her like a piece of meat and potential source of dollars, though, so she's prepared when he drops back onto the mattress and attempts to squirm out from under her. She lets go of his hair in an instant and lands two blows on his arms. They flop onto the bed, useless, and she finds his throat with her knife again.

"Involving law enforcement might inconvenience you, but I have no doubt you could con your way into a slap on the wrist, even with the other side receiving excellent legal counsel," Caroline continues. His throat is faintly pink with scratches.

"I--look, I won't even look at a girl."

Caroline leans forward to hiss in his ear, "I could neuter you and you would just find a girl to blame for your impotence." Anger freezes her words to ice shards. The whites of his eyes are showing all the way around his irises, and she clenches her jaw. It would be easy. It would be a _real_ favor, one that will pay back--whatever debt she owes to Gigi.

She forces her teeth apart and pulls in a breath between them. And another. This threat must be delivered in a neutral tone of voice to work. She steadies herself, face still as a painting. "But you deserve worse than death, George Wickham. You deserve to crawl into the gutter and cling to the muck you find, praying that I never find you again."

He gives a fraction of a nod and says nothing. It is the first clever thing he has done in his life.

"For the rest of my life, I will keep tabs on you. I will _know_ if you so much as sneeze near a woman. If you attempt a relationship, I will come for you, and I will frame you for a crime that _will_ lock you away," Caroline says, society smile fixed in place. "Slither away, little snake. No matter how far or fast, you will never escape me."

When Wickham closes his eyes, the fine lines around his eyes thrown into sharp relief, Caroline tucks away the switchblade. Then she punches him in the nose, the impact calculated to shatter his nose beyond the hope of anything save for massive plastic surgery. She turns him on his side so he won't drown in his own blood while he's passed out from pain.

It's not an assignment without a little blood on her hands.

*

But this is a rescue mission, and shock and awe won't work for the final phase. Caroline traces Lydia to an Old Navy in a tiny mall outlet. It's fifteen minutes from her current location, so she follows the signal, breathing a silent apology to fashion as she slides into a parking space in front of a department store. Budget constraints should not trump the constraints of good taste.

She takes a seat on a nearby bench and waits for the most vociferously annoying Bennet sister.

Minutes later, Lydia emerges from the store with an armful of shopping bags and shadows under her eyes so deep they look like bruises. Some of it must be cheap eyeliner smudging from wear, of course, but Caroline knows what a victim of George Wickham looks like. She rises, smoothing the lines of her dress, and holds up a hand in greeting.

Lydia freezes, her gaze darting around the rest of the parking lot. Her mouth is twisted, as if torn between a shaky smile and a grimace. "If you're hoping to see either of your sisters, they're not here," Caroline says, sighing in faux sympathy. "Am I the only one in this troubled world who understands the bond of family?"

"Why are you here? You hate me," Lydia says dully, the corners of her mouth smoothing into something too tired to even call a frown.

"I'm here _because_ I don't like you," Caroline replies. Softening her tone just a hair, she adds, "I don't like you, but no one deserves what you've just been through. What you're still going through."

"Which is what?" Lydia snaps. Good, there's fight left in her after all.

"An abusive relationship."

"George is _not_ ," Lydia begins, tears already standing in her eyes, voice quivering with such anger she hardly seems able to form sentences. "He never hit--George loves me! He made a mistake! He--he needs money, and he's so poor because of _Darcy_ , and I don't care what he or his sister says, because I know! I know better!"

"You watched Gigi's video, and you still know nothing," Caroline says, shaking her head. "You were wondering why he stopped calling, weren't you? Wondering why you couldn't get in touch with him, why his apartment seemed deserted. Did you have a key? Did you let yourself in and find it stripped bare and sit down in the middle of the floor to cry?" One of Lydia's bags falls from her hand. "Come now. You know you're not the first to be taken in by George Wickham."

"You're terrible," Lydia whispers, like it's some kind of revelation.

"I'd rather be right than nice," Caroline says, shrugging. "I guess I should let your sisters know where you are. I hear they can't find you." She turns on her heel and walks back toward her car, counting down in her head.

"Wait!"

That lone word contains thin, ragged multitudes. Caroline needs to stop clenching her jaw like this. It's going to give her dental problems as well as a headache. She turns, casually tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Yes?"

"The same thing happened to Gigi?" Lydia's voice is barely audible. "He got what he wanted and then he... left?"

"The same thing, but to a lesser extent. There was no X-rated website involved last time."

Caroline watches as Lydia wavers. She never expected this part of the assignment to be the easy bit. It's not--Caroline can practically see the denial taking shape inside Lydia's mind, despite her flinch at the mention of the website--but Gigi was right. Caroline has no reason to care about Lydia; her words have more weight. The part of Caroline that makes her an excellent assassin and socialite alike thinks, _No wonder Wickham went after her._ The girl has vulnerabilities to spare.

"Darcy asked you to do this," Lydia says, picking up the bag she dropped. She's speaking rapidly enough that her words tumble over each other. "He wants to hurt George and he's using you because you want all up on that and you're _not_ fooling me."

People are beginning to stare at the girl in the middle of the parking lot in near tears. Caroline goes in for the kill. "The only thing preventing Darcy from running into your sister's arms is the fact that she's worried about you. I'm certainly not doing this for Darcy and his exceptionally poor taste in women. This is for Gigi, for having the courage to tell the world that George Wickham is a predator."

Sometimes the best lie is the truth.

Lydia sinks onto the bench, letting her bags go to bury her face in her hands. Her shoulders shake, but Caroline can't hear a sound. Caroline lets her have her moment, then says, "You could always go back to them first. If they find you, they find poor, naive Lydia, it's no surprise she ended up the way she did. If you go back, they'll see their Lydia, back and better than ever. Things will be in a bit of an uproar, but they'll go back to normal. They always do."

The word _normal_ stops the trembling in Lydia's frame. That's another lie, this one without a grain of truth, but it's what the girl needs to hear. When Lydia lifts her head, Caroline puts on her most sincere smile.

"Here," she says, handing Lydia her handkerchief. "Keep this. A lady is never without one."

Caroline saunters back to her car. Her work here is done.

*

Eight hours later, her phone pings with a text message: _Thank you._

_My pleasure,_ Caroline replies, and is surprised to find she means it. _Hypothetically, that man had a punch to the face coming._

_I was talking about Lydia, but yes. He did. =)_

Caroline goes back to typing, legs draped over one of the arms of her chair, her back braced against the other. She doesn't sprawl anywhere except while alone. So much of her childhood was about maintaining appearances; really, nothing much has changed. It's pleasant to focus on a pure matter of the mind: setting up a surveillance plan for George Wickham. With a few prods toward the right underground scenes, he can be one of her contacts for unsavory places. Every tool has its use.

About an hour later, there is a light knock at her door. Caroline shuts her laptop and swings her legs off her chair, crossing the five feet between chair and door. She hesitates at the lock, then slides it free and turns the knob.

"Hello, Gigi," she says for the second time in two days. "Let's talk."

Caroline settles back into her chair, crossing one leg over the other. Gigi takes the middle cushion of the sofa opposite Caroline, toeing off her shoes before sitting Indian-style, hands clasped together and tucked into her lap. She looks small against the large white cushions.

"I think I was too flippant in my last text," Gigi says. Her voice is thick. "There is no possible way I can thank you enough for what you did. Lizzie called me. I don't know how she knew, but she did."

Caroline tenses.

"No, I didn't tell her that it was you. I don't know why you don't just make up with her. If William can do it..."

Caroline gives a short, ironic laugh. The other members of her charmed circle are far more like Bing than they would like to admit, too ready to accept strangers with open arms. "Your brother is in love with Lizzie," she reminds Gigi. "I have nothing like that to spur me to grow as a person. I like the way I am, snobbery and all. Not everyone can be good."

Gigi's eyes are so clear, so bright. Her hands have loosened, resting on her knees. "You did two good things today. I don't think they were just for me."

"They were mostly for you," Caroline admits, her tone carefully nonchalant. "There are people I consider family."

"I think of you as family, too," Gigi says, smile luminous for an instant before it dims. "That's why I wanted to tell you this in person."

"There's really no need," Caroline says, leaning to retrieve a magazine from the coffee table. She almost opens it upside down before she catches herself.

"No, it's not what you think!" Caroline has had too much of teary-eyed girls today. "I wanted to say that I'm still not ready to date anyone. I don't know when I will be, only that--that if I were, I would choose you." Gigi pulls a tissue from her purse and dabs at her eyes, leaving smudges of mascara on the tissue. "It wouldn't be fair to ask you to wait."

"I'm not a nice person," Caroline says while privately vowing to kill Wickham the first time he steps out of line, no matter how many useful contacts he makes.

"I don't want you to be," Gigi whispers. "I like you when you're good in spite of yourself."

There is no recourse but to get out of the chair, walking around the coffee table to sit next to Gigi. Caroline puts an awkward arm around Gigi's shoulders, reaching with her other hand to lace her fingers through Gigi's. She doesn't have much practice with this, but Gigi's hair smells like lilacs. "This is okay," Caroline says, shaping the words as gently as she can, as though they might break. "This is all I need."

"Me, too," Gigi says, and shifts to rest her head on Caroline's shoulder.

Inch by inch, Caroline relaxes. She counts their breaths, in and out, until even the numbers fade away and she is left with the steady beating of her own heart.


End file.
